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Parthak
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The Voices of the Weak
Children buried in the rocks Had their fantasies stolen Beaten by exhaustion and disdain Their remains roll across the parched land
Birds carry seeds of solitude And see men whispering their misery Weak voices, mute with pain Left to their own demise
Land burnt by live coal Find more lyrics at ※ Mojim.com That makes the trees rotten And the animals' blood on the ground sterile With no song...
The acrid smell of death dances in the dust Laughing at the mediocre and weak There's no color, there's no open wound in the ground Flies and worms on such dreadful moribund people
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